Wolf Rite
by Ovo
Summary: Kevin's baby steps. Written for Meeerf, for Yuletide 2008.


_**Wolf Rite**_

An unfamiliar scent, strong and dangerous, crossed his path. It had come and gone, unsettling him and forcing him from his favorite den. It scared the animals from his hunting grounds; hunger gnawed at him, making it impossible to sleep.

There was another one – young like him – prowling around the brush. Unlike him, this other had caught a silktail... He was the strongest wolf in the forest, but the other, driven by hunger, refused to give up the prize. All he earned for his trouble was a gash on his nose, and a future enemy.

_The Old One_... She had nursed them all, and she had fed him at times, when the forest was blanketed with snow. She was not there now, and her scent was days old. The unfamiliar smell crossed her path, too. It did not bode well, for many of the young ones had her to thank for surviving. And many of the youngest still needed her guidance.

He retreated to his autumn den to think. Without the Old One, he held the highest status... but it was the females' place to raise the young, and he was still hungry.

There was another female – smaller, younger than he was – where the Others were. The Others did not respect his status. The first time he had tried to challenge their territory, an old wolf of many years had taken him without much of a fight; now they tolerated him, and merely chased him off with sticks if he got too bold for his own good. The little female, however, would bring him food and tug his ears. He did not like for his ears to be tugged, but she was otherwise respectful and so he allowed her.

Impatient, he waited outside of their territory, watching the wooden dens. They marked their territory with sticks, although there were at least two wolves that reaffirmed the boundary the proper way, and their dens they made with their own hands. He had watched them one summer, shape and pile wood from the forest – he had stared at his own hands, in wonder at the power he had never thought to possess.... But that was last year, this was this year, and he was hungry. The little female saw him, but before she could approach, her sire swept her up and barked at the others. In no time, the old wolf was after him, forcing him to turned tail and escape into the forest.

The unfamiliar scent had followed him here, nearer now than it had ever been. He retreated back into the deep of the forest, only to find it there, waiting for him at every turn. His avoidance led him to the stone den, prowled by the strongest beasts he knew. He had been there once, as a mere pup, and they had viciously run him out like a frightened rabite.

And there, between the forest and the stone den, was the beast who had stalked him throughout his domain. This one was the Lord of the Beasts. Even had he never seen him, he would have known him, for wolves were among the beasts. Rooted to the spot, he stared at this Wolf Lord... one like him, but not; like the Others, but not; like his brethren in the forests, but not.

It was bold and dangerous; the Wolf Lord ought to have torn his throat out for such an indiscretion, but instead held out his hand, gently touching his ruff of a mane.

"It is time to leave the forest behind," the Wolf Lord told him, "You have survived your first steps; it is time for you to learn other things."

His voice, thick and commanding, stirred memories long buried. A long time ago – before the forest, before the Old One – there was a female that nursed him and cooed at him, and a male that reeked of authority and howled at the moons. They had babbled, like the Others, like this one.

But it was a dim memory.

There was a sound he remembered, he had overheard from the Others. The sound fit this man – half-man, half-beast – who stirred his oldest memories. "Father...?"

"Yes," the Wolf Lord replied, taken aback, "That's right."

Standing a bit taller, like the Others, like those who lived in the stone den, the boy tried to remember the other sounds, the other meanings.

"...Mother?"

For a moment, the Wolf Lord's surprise and anger twisted into a fearful expression, only to fade, suppressed by an iron will. His only word on the subject was a thick, "No."

Hesitant after such a display, the youth glanced at the shelter of the forest. He could have escaped, perhaps but to where? This Lord of the Beasts held sway over even him, the Lord of the Forest, and had already forced him from his favorite den. No doubt, if such a Lord desired, he would be chased to the end of the world.

And yet the memory remained, dim as it was, of a kindly smile and a gentle heart. This man was not to be feared, but respected. Like the Old One. Taking his first steps out of childhood, the boy embraced his sire – a wholly unwolfish thing to do. The Beast King glanced aside, returning the gesture only when he was certain that none of his courtiers were watching such an outward affection.

"Come," he said, pushing the boy away, "We have much to discuss, and you have much to learn."

The Lord of the Beasts left his son in the shadow of the forest, allowing him to follow at will. The child heeled instantly, and did not object when handed over to those who would teach him.

There was no overt ceremony welcoming home the rightful prince of the Beast Men... That he had survived infancy was sufficient. More than sufficient – to the people of the Beast Kingdom, it meant that, despite his appearance, the curious halfbreed whelp they fretted about had none of his mother's taint, and was truly his father's son.

_**the end**_

**Working Title**: _Wolf Rite_

**Inspiration**: Yuletide.

**Noteworthy**: And then Kevin had to go and get a _puppy_ and a sense of _compassion_, disappointing _everybody... _except maybe me.

**Disambiguation**: None necessary. Correct me if I'm wrong.

**Dedication**: Meeerf.

_Derivative work of material © Squaresoft, Square-Enix. Originally written for Yuletide 2008, under the pseudonym Sandlion._


End file.
